the wrong train
by afreshwatermermaid
Summary: One-shot Person of Interest fluffy fluff. John Reese x reader as requested by im-currently-daydreaming. Rated for language, violence, alcohol, and adult situations.
You got on the wrong subway train... _again._

It's too late now to do anything about it. There's nothing to do but get off at the next stop and switch. You flop down in a seat, fighting back tears. It's been a horrible day.

You've only lived in New York City for five days, but you've gotten lost at least two dozen times. The city is wondrous and fascinating, but incredibly overwhelming. You scowl at your uncomfortable shoes. You hate being the stereotypical small town girl who moved to the big city. You just want to blend in with everyone else and stop sticking out like there's a neon sign flashing "I don't know what the hell I'm doing here" over your head.

Your stomach growls. You forgot your lunch on the counter of your tiny studio apartment this morning, and that packet of peanut m&m's you bought from the office vending machine was not exactly substantial. And now you probably won't get home until after dark which means you'll be too tired to get groceries which means you'll be eating cold cereal for dinner….again. You lean your head back and close your eyes. What a fucking miserable shitty-

A sudden commotion interrupts your pity party. A man has just crashed into the car, eyes wild. You barely have time to register the gun in his hand before the other commuters start screaming and shoving to get away. You start to get up, but an elbow connects with your face, hard. You stumble back into your seat, eyes watering, and then someone grabs your arm and wrenches you roughly to your feet. Something hard and cool presses against the side of your head and you freeze, your heart pounding. The gunman has his arm around your neck, the gun to your head. He smells like sweat and he's breathing hard. Both of you are facing the way he came where a single man is now standing.

He's well dressed in a nice suit, but that's not the first thing you notice. He's also holding a gun. You clutch the gunman's arm that is slowly tightening around your neck, trying to breathe.

"I'll kill her!" The gunman snarls from behind you. "I'll do it!"

The man in the suit meets your terrified gaze briefly before calmly lowering his gun and setting it on the floor.

"No need for that." He says in a low smooth voice. "C'mon, Ray, let the lady go."

The arm around your neck tightens even further. "I'm not falling for that. Kick your gun over here."

The man in the suit straightens, his hands above his head, and kicks the gun towards you. "This is between me and you. Let her go."

The gunman laughs, a high pitched frantic sound. You keep your eyes trained on the man in the suit.

 _Please. Please don't let me die here._ You think frantically, your eyes smarting. _I don't want to die here._

The train pulls into the next station. Out of the corner of your eye you can see that it's completely empty. _The gunman, what did the man call him, Ray?_ Ray starts dragging you backwards.

"I'm gonna get off, and you're gonna stay right here. Got it?" Ray barks.

"Don't do this, Ray." The man in the suit says, his voice still infuriatingly calm.

"Please." You manage to whisper through dry lips.

"Shut up." Ray growls.

The man in the suit meets your eyes again. Then the doors open and Ray steps onto the platform. You stumble slightly over the gap, losing a shoe. Ray pauses for the briefest second and then a shot rings out.

You squeeze your eyes shut instinctively. Behind you, Ray lets out a scream of pain and releases you. At the same time someone shoves you aside and tackles him to the ground. You go sprawling on your hands and knees on the floor before scrambling to your feet, ready to run. An hand catches your arm and pulls you back. You shriek and desperately swing your free arm around in a punch your brother taught you ages ago. Your fist catches him in the jaw, snapping his head back and sending pain shooting through your hand.

You pull your fist back again, but then stop. It's not Ray. It's the man in the suit. He shakes his head slightly, rubbing his jaw. Behind him, Ray is on the ground with another man kneeling on his back, staring open mouthed at you.

"Wow. She really got you good." The newcomer says, his face breaking into a grin.

The man in the suit glares over at him. "Aren't you supposed to be arresting someone, Detective?"

The Detective pulls out handcuffs, still chuckling as he begins to read Ray his rights. You look back at the man in the suit, horrified.

"I'm so sorry!" You gasp.

"Don't be." He says, smiling down at you. "That was a good punch."

"Th...thanks." You stutter, your gaze shifting between him and the Detective.

"Get her outta here." The Detective calls over, hauling Ray to his feet. "Backup's on the way."

The man hands you something. It's your shoe. You take it, staring at it blankly.

"Hey." He says, sounding slightly concerned. "You ok?"

You blink, feeling dazed. "Um, y...yeah."

You drop the shoe and attempt to slip your foot into it. You wobble unsteadily and the man catches your arm to help. You manage to get your shoe on, and then he's walking you through the empty platform, towards the exit.

"Where is everyone?" You ask numbly.

"We cleared everyone out of the station before the train arrived."

You glance up at him. His eyes are blue. The two of you step out into the hot, sticky air. He steers you towards the street, signaling a taxi.

"The least I can do is see you back home safe." He says. "Is that alright with you?"

You nod, unable to form actual words. A taxi pulls up, and he opens the door for you like a gentleman. You climb in and he goes around to get in the other side. You manage to tell the driver your address, and the cab jerks into motion.

"Let's see that hand." The man in the suit motions towards the hand you punched him with.

You let him take your hand, wincing a little. He carefully bends your fingers, which hurts, but not too badly.

"The good news is that nothing's broken." He finally says. "But it will probably hurt like hell tomorrow."

"I think I'll take a sick day." You say faintly.

He grins. "Probably a good idea."

You study him in the dim evening light. He looks like he just stepped off the pages of a men's fashion magazine. Ruggedly handsome. Tall. Salt and pepper hair. Bright blue eyes. And he just saved your life.

"Who are you?" You ask.

His eyes glint in amusement. He saw you staring. "My name's John, and I help people. When did you move to New York?"

You deflate slightly. "Five days ago. Is it that obvious?"

"Maybe a little." He smiles.

"I wasn't even on the right train…" You mumble miserably.

He studies you silently for a moment. "Have you had dinner yet?"

You shake your head.

"We could stop and grab a bite to eat." He says casually.

You hesitate. Is he asking you to dinner? No. He's probably just being nice. "I just want to go home."

Your voice cracks slightly, and you avoid his gaze. You're suddenly overwhelmed with homesickness, for the safety and security of your hometown. For your family, your friends. Will this city ever feel like home? You blink rapidly, determined not to break down crying like some pathetic damsel in distress.

"Hey." He says softly. When you don't respond, he shifts closer and gently drapes an arm around your shoulders.

That does it. Now you're crying. Angrily crying because you didn't want to cry at all. Especially in front of this ridiculously handsome stranger.

He sits quietly, his arm around you. The taxi stops, and you realize you're home. John leans forward, pays the driver, and then gets out. He walks around and opens your door.

"Come on." He says kindly. "Let's get you inside."

Your apartment is clean, thank god, but it's also incredibly stuffy and hot. You flip on the ancient air conditioner which roars to life, blowing slightly cool air into the room.

"Make yourself at home." You mumble, retreating to the bathroom in an attempt to pull yourself together.

When you come back out, John is just hanging up his phone. He's removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He looks absurdly out of place in your dingy apartment, but he looks up and smiles.

"I just ordered some Chinese takeout." He says. "You didn't have much in your fridge."

"Oh." You say, surprised.

"I can leave if you'd like." He adds quickly. "I just wanted to make sure you had something to eat."

"No, stay." You say, smiling. "Chinese sounds perfect."

The two of you settle on your old couch, and you find yourself telling him about your hometown, your family, even your asshole ex-boyfriend who suddenly dumped you after four years. Thankfully the food arrives, interrupting your slightly nervous rambling. John apparently ordered some of everything. You unpack the bags, and there is _so much food._

"I wasn't sure what you liked." John says a bit sheepishly.

You look up at him, surrounded by at least a dozen different entrees, and start to laugh.

You eat on the floor since you don't have a table. You open that fancy bottle of whiskey your friend gave you as a going away present. John tells you funny stories about his friend Harold and his dog named Bear. Afterwards, you both climb out onto the fire escape and sit, sipping on whiskey. You swing your bare feet over the edge, feeling pleasantly tipsy.

"John?" You finally say. "Thank you. For saving my life."

He turns his head to look at you and simply smiles.

"And...for this." You hesitate. He is so close to you now, this perfect human specimen. "I needed this."

"I think I did too." He says, his voice husky.

And then he's kissing you, his hands gently cupping your face, and you're kissing him back. He tastes like whiskey. Your hands tangle in his hair and he pulls you closer. This feels like a dream, but a very, very nice one. Eventually you move back inside. He pulls your shirt over your head, and you run your hands up his bare chest. He growls lightly against your mouth. You tug him down onto your mattress on the floor. You've been so lonely for so long that his touch is intoxicating. You wonder if he feels the same way. There is a desperate sort of hunger in him that you know all too well.

The warm night air feels pleasant now as the two of you lay tangled together, just breathing. You lightly trace a scar on his chest, wondering where it came from. He captures your hand and bring it to his lips.

"I'm glad I took the wrong train." You whisper.

He smiles, gently brushing your hair out of your eyes. "I am too."


End file.
